


we've got each other, yeah?

by jennycaakes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6369013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennycaakes/pseuds/jennycaakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monty and Miller have been together for a few months now, but they're on opposite sides of the war. Hannah wants Monty to bug his boyfriend. Will he do it?</p><p>Or: Bryan never existed - what if Monty had been the one who had to bug Miller instead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MelikaElena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelikaElena/gifts).



> Written for Mel, because I'm trash and she's trash and we're trash together for these boys.

This isn’t the first thing that Pike or Pike-Affiliates have asked Monty to do that he hasn’t wanted to, but this is the first thing that makes him freeze entirely. Monty hasn’t ever really _liked_ Pike. Not at all. He’s loud and gets what he wants by shouting, not necessarily through logic. And Monty prefers logic. He also prefers all his friends staying alive, and considering they buried Monroe a week ago that clearly isn’t working out in his favor.

Monty only sided with Pike when his mother sided with Pike. They were close, and Monty lost his father, and he was too tired and too sad to put too much thought into it. It wasn’t _vengeance_ that he wanted, but he could understand why other people did. He could understand why that was what his mother wanted.

But there’s a bug sitting on the table now and two sets of eyes staring into his soul saying _do it do it do it_.

They want him to plant a bug on Miller. His boyfriend. Because they think that he’s a traitor.

Bellamy looks more guarded, but Hannah—his _mother_ —doesn’t seem fazed for a moment that she’s asking Monty to do this. “We know you love him, Monty,” Hannah says from where she’s standing across the table. And he does. Monty loves Miller so much that he doesn’t know what to do with himself half of the time. From early days at the dropship to growing closer through Mount Weather to _moving in together,_ of course Monty loves him. “But if he’s on the wrong side,” she adds, “then we should know that.”

Monty presses his lips tightly together. Not for the first time he stops himself from asking _are_ we _even on the right side?_ He stares intently at the bug, not daring to look up at Bellamy or his mother again.

“This is for the greater good,” Bellamy adds, though his voice is thicker than usual.

It would be so easy, slipping this bug into Miller’s guard jacket pocket. It would be so easy to spy on him. Because Miller trusts him. He trusts Monty completely, despite _knowing_ that Monty is working with Pike. Miller trusts Monty so entirely that this would be the easiest thing in the world to do. But the fact that Monty’s entire body feels _cold_ , like someone’s dumped ice water down his shirt, is enough proof that this isn’t as easy as the people across the table from him want it to be.

“We know that you can do it, Sweetheart,” Hannah says warmly. But it’s not warm enough to help him make up his mind.

\--

Monty takes the long way back to his quarters that he shares with Miller. They’ve only been living together for a month or so and it started before they’d found Agro Station. He was too comfortable where he was to move back in with his mom despite the fact that Monty was barely 17. Waking up next to Miller is a damn blessing and he isn’t about to give that up. But the thought of returning to their quarters now where he knows Miller will be waiting is a scary thought. Guilty is tearing at his head, wondering if his mom is right or wrong, thinking about his father who was murdered without anyone even sparing a thought, thinking about Monroe crumbled on the ground beneath him. None of it make sense, and Monty wants all of it to stop. 

But finally he reaches his home. Monty lingers in the doorway without shutting the door, knowing the noise will startle his boyfriend who hasn’t heard Monty enter. Miller's digging through their drawers, probably looking for a shirt to wear on shift considering he's shirtless. Monty's shirts are just a little too small around the sleeves for him to wear but Miller tries anyway (which Monty appreciates, because arms). Finally he clears his throat and Miller turns, glancing over his shoulder with a smile.

“Hey,” Miller calls.

“Hey.”

He turns back to the dresser, still digging around. “I’m looking for your blue shirt,” he murmurs as he rifles from one drawer to another. “Need something that smells like you to keep me awake tonight.” Monty’s heart is aching so _much_ that he doesn’t even smile when Miller says this. Which is insane. Because that’s one of the cutest freaking things Miller has ever said in his life. “You seen it?” he asks.

“I’m wearing it,” Monty answers. Miller frowns, glancing over his shoulder again. “I can take it off, if you want.”

“Ah, I’ll do that later,” Miller says, his frown slipping away. Again, something that should make Monty smile. “Besides, I can just wear your green one.” Monty finally closes the door and enters their room, though he still lingers by the doorway. “My shift is over at midnight,” Miller says, finally snatching up a shirt and pulling it on over his head. As expected the sleeves are just a little too tight and Miller’s biceps look _fantastic_. “Think you’ll be awake?”

Monty manages to come up with something that sounds truthful. “If you’re offering to strip me when you get back, then absolutely.”

Miller laughs. God, Monty loves him. He never expected to fall for the brooding, angry boy who had a heart so golden it made Monty feel pale in comparison. But he did. He fell in love with Miller’s smiles, rare unless they were alone. He fell in love with Miller’s hands, strong and callused and capable. He fell in love with Miller’s voice, the way it sounded first thing in the morning, murmuring things too sweet in Monty’s ear before the sun had even risen. He loves him entirely, every aspect of him.

Even if he is a traitor.

“I’m going to be late,” Miller murmurs, mostly to himself as he lowers himself onto their small futon to start pulling on his boots. “You figure with my dad as chief guard he’d give me a break every once in a while,” he says, looking up at Monty. “But nope. Twice the judgement.”

“Twice the love,” Monty adds carefully. Miller rolls his eyes but there’s a smile on his face because Miller knows it’s true, that his father loves him. “You can blame me,” Monty offers. “Say I distracted you.”

Miller laughs again and Monty savors the sound. How much longer will Miller laugh like that, laugh with _him_ , if Monty does this? If he plants the bug? If Miller finds out?

“I _do_ say that,” Miller says, as he laces the shoe he’s pulled on. “Only works sometimes. Dad’s got a soft spot for you.” Miller grins up at his boyfriend. “Must run in the family.”

“You’re flirty today,” Monty says, finally letting a laugh bubble out of him.

“I have no excuse for that,” Miller says as he stands, finally having both of his shoes on. He crosses the room to Monty with ease and cups his cheeks in his hands, leaning down and kissing him deeply. Monty sighs into Miller’s mouth, forgetting for a moment about the horrible thing his mother’s asked him to do. Monty’s hands come up to grip Miller’s shirt (Monty’s shirt, technically) to keep him from pulling back. “Hell, if I had ten minutes,” he exhales as they part.

Monty’s lips quirk. “What could we possibly get done in ten minutes, Nate?”

“Sounds like a challenge for another day,” Miller returns with a grin before leaning in again. It takes no time at all for Miller’s tongue to slip between Monty’s lips and Monty groans before forcing himself back.

“You have work,” Monty reminds him breathlessly. But still Miller leans in another time, kissing him softly before retreating entirely. Miller moves to grab his guard jacket from the chair it’s draped over and Monty rocks backwards on his heels, watching him. If he’s going to do it, he’s got to do it now. “Nate,” he murmurs, looking away when Miller looks at him. “I love you, you know,” he says.

His gaze is on the ground. He only looks up after he hears a few footsteps and then Miller’s hand curves around his cheek. Miller lifts his chin, causing Monty to look at him.

“I know,” Miller murmurs. “What’s wrong?” he asks. Monty tries to duck his chin but Miller’s hold is firm, keeping him up. “Talk to me,” he pushes. “What happened?”

The bug in Monty’s pocket feels heavy. It isn’t activated yet, he’s the only one who knows how to do that, but it still feels like someone’s listening in on this conversation.

“If I asked if you were working with Kane,” Monty says gently, “would you tell me the truth?”

Miller’s hand falls from Monty’s cheek. “I always tell you the truth,” he answers. But his voice is thick. And Monty knows what that means. Again Monty looks to the ground, unable to meet his boyfriend’s eyes. “Are you going to ask?” Miller wonders. “Because I’ll tell you the truth, Monty. You know I will.”

“No, I know you would,” Monty rasps. But he can’t stand to make Miller admit that to him. That he’s with Kane. “If I hear it, it can’t be taken back.” Miller doesn’t move from where he is, standing in front of Monty. “I can’t make myself forget.” Miller shifts on his feet and Monty finally looks up. “Just, for the love of God,” Monty pleads. “Be careful. _Please_ , Nate.”

“Monty…”

“He’ll kill you,” Monty says, his voice dropping. He takes the step to Miller and grabs the lapels of his jacket. “Pike will, and I can’t—I can’t…”

“Hey, hey,” Miller murmurs, his hands cupping Monty’s cheeks again. “You think I don’t worry about you every time you step in the same room as him?” he asks. “You think I don’t want to throw you over my shoulder and pull you out of that shit?” Miller’s thumbs glide across his skin. “And I don’t—while I don’t agree with that bastard and have a hard time thinking you _do_ ; I trust you to make your own choices.”

“I can’t lose you,” Monty croaks.

Miller shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere.” He pulls Monty toward him again, kissing him as though to make Monty believe him. As though this kiss can ground them in their spot, can prevent the walls from crumbling down, can stop this war that’s about to begin. “I love you,” he murmurs against Monty’s lips. “And I trust you, Monty. You have to trust me, too.”

“I do, I do,” he breathes back, pulling Miller toward him as forcefully as he can. He needs Miller to know this. That he trusts him. “I’m sorry,” he croaks.

Miller doesn’t ask for what, and for that Monty is grateful. Because the list keeps getting longer.

\--

“Did you do it?”

The question comes from Bellamy, and Monty intentionally keeps his gaze on the work in front of him rather than the man who’s lowered himself into the seat beside him. Part of him wants to shout at Bellamy. _He’s your best friend. At least he used to be. What happened to you? What happened to_ us _?_ But he doesn’t. Instead Monty just fiddles with the machine on the table in front of him.

“Do what?” he asks.

Bellamy’s sigh is loud. “You didn’t do it,” he mutters. “Monty—”

“Don’t,” Monty stops him. “He’s not with Kane, Bellamy.” Bellamy shakes his head slightly. “He’s _not_ ,” Monty insists, _lies_ , but he can’t tell the truth here. “He’s stubborn. And can be an asshole. But he’s not a traitor, okay?” Bellamy huffs, sinking down into his seat. “I love him,” Monty says, needing Bellamy to know this. To understand why he couldn’t put a bug on Miller. “And I trust him.”

“We’re fighting a war here, Monty,” Bellamy says. “You think I don’t love Octavia? But she’s still on the _wrong side_.” Monty doesn’t turn to look at Bellamy, still fiddling with the machine. Bellamy doesn’t sound like himself, and it’s scary. Exhausting. “We need to know what Kane’s next move is.”

“Well it’s not with Miller,” Monty snaps. Bellamy flinches back slightly, and even Monty’s surprised by the anger in his voice. He digs in his pocket for the bug and slams it down on the table, finally turning to face Bellamy. “Find another rat.”

“Monty…” Bellamy says, and his voice is softer. Like the Bellamy who hasn’t been broken and abandoned. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says. And Monty believes him. “But we still have to think logically here. Just because Miller says that he’s not with Kane doesn’t mean—”

“ _Stop_ ,” Monty cuts him off again. “He wouldn’t lie to me.” Bellamy doesn’t like this answer, it’s clear in the way his eyebrows come together. “Find someone else,” he tells him again.

\--

Monty’s still awake when Miller comes back that night but all the teasing from earlier is gone. Miller kicks off his boots silently and is as quiet as possible as he climbs into bed with Monty. Neither of them speak as Monty moves, curling himself into Miller’s side and wrapping his arm around Miller’s waist. He’s cold from the night air but Monty won’t let go of him. Slowly Miller lifts his hand so he can cup the back of Monty’s head before he dives into his hair, gently moving his fingers against his skull.

“Who else?” Monty finally asks. His voice is soft, barely audible over the hum of the generator.

“You sure you want to know?” Miller asks. Monty’s quiet, unsure. But yes, he does want to know. He wants to know who else he could lose because of this pointless war. He nods. “Sinclair,” Miller whispers. Monty knows that Miller trusts him completely and entirely. “Harper.” Monty’s breath catches in his throat. “She came over after Monroe…” Miller murmurs, trailing off, and Monty nods again. “Octavia, of course.”

“Of course,” Monty exhales. “Raven?” he asks. “Jasper?”

“Unaffiliated.” Monty sighs. “Caught up in City of Light stuff.” From the way Monty’s crowded against him all it takes is for Miller to tip his head to press a warm kiss to Monty’s forehead. “We’re careful,” Miller whispers. “But what Pike’s doing…”

“I don’t want to talk about Pike,” Monty forces out. He props himself up. “They’re going to know it’s you,” Monty says as he sits up. “They’re looking for a way to bug Kane.” Miller’s eyebrows come together but he sits up as well. “They wanted me to…” Monty trails off, his voice giving out. Miller reaches out then, knowing what Monty was going to say without him having to do it. “I couldn’t,” Monty says. He couldn’t turn him in, he couldn’t bug him, he couldn’t willingly put Miller in any danger. “I could never.”

“Monty…”

“I could never do that to you,” Monty says again, his voice cracking in pain. But he thought about it. God, he thought about putting the bug in Miller’s jacket. “I just know they’re going to find a way somehow, and then they’ll know that you’re with them, and I can’t _protect_ you—”

“Stop, stop,” Miller moves his hands from Monty’s to cup his cheeks. “You don’t have to protect me, Monty. We’ll be careful.”

“No, I _do_ ,” Monty says. “I said it earlier and I’m saying it now, Nate, _he’ll kill you_.”

“You don’t have to protect me,” Miller says again.

“ _Yes I do_ ,” Monty repeats. “It’s what we do—we’ve always protected each other. All of us.” The delinquents have. And Miller’s more than that now. “From the dropship, to Mount Weather, Nate if I can keep your name out of this then _my God_ I’m going to try!”

Miller tugs, then, crashing his lips against Monty’s. Monty’s hands fly out to Miller’s waist, to his shoulders, somewhere to keep him steady but Miller’s persistent. He pushes until Monty’s got his back on their mattress and then breaks away.

“We’re not doing this,” Miller growls against Monty’s ear before sucking on the skin beneath. “We’ll go in circles for hours, Monty,” he continues. “You protecting me protecting you. We’re just not fucking doing it, okay?” Monty sighs, dropping his head backwards against their pillows, and Miller moves from his neck. He hitches his legs around Monty’s hips to keep him down and then leans in again, kissing him once more. “I’m in love with you,” Miller murmurs against his mouth. “And I’m not losing you. No fucking way.”  

“ _Nate_ ,” Monty breathes.

“We have to get you out of there,” Miller croaks before kissing him again. And Monty nods. _He nods_. He wants out. He’s so tired of wars, all he wants is this. “I’m so fucking _worried_ about you,” he murmurs against his mouth. “Every goddamn day, Monty.” His hands are frantic, moving from Monty’s shoulders to Monty’s cheeks as though he’s trying to scoop him up and hold him. “Please,” Miller whispers. “Please.”

“Please?” Monty echoes.

“Leave them,” Miller pleads. He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You don’t have to join Kane, but _please_ get away from Pike. Monty, _please_.” Monty pulls back slightly, tipping his head so their foreheads are pinned together. “I know you don’t believe the things he says,” Miller murmurs. “If I don’t, then you _can’t_.” Because Miller thinks Monty’s always been better than him. Purer. With his head on right. “Talk to me. What are you thinking?” Miller’s hands are still frantic, fingers brushing the ends of Monty’s hair, cupping the back of his neck. “Where do you stand?”

It’s such a relief when he can truthfully say, “With you.”

The tension that Monty didn’t even realize Miller was holding in his shoulders dissolves. He melts against Monty, pressing him further into their mattress as Miller’s hips rock to meet Monty’s, tipping Monty’s head back so he can kiss him deeply. “I love you,” Miller breathes into Monty’s mouth, his voice broken like the night he told Monty about the day Miller’s mother was floated. “I’m so fucking sick of this war,” he continues as he kisses across Monty’s chin. “I just want you. I just want you.”

“I’m here,” Monty manages, his voice just as broken. “He can’t have me,” Monty tells him. Pike doesn’t get Monty’s brain. Not anymore. “I love you,” he echoes Miller’s words desperately. Miller’s hands reach the hem of Monty’s shirt, easing it up slightly, and Monty responds in kind by helping him pull it up and over his head. Feeling Miller’s skin against his own causes Monty to groan. Miller’s scruff scrapes against Monty’s chest as he sucks on Monty’s collarbone. _I love you, I love you_ , he repeats it again and again for Miller to hear so he knows that it’s true. _I’m with you._

Miller repeats the sentiment in soft breaths. _With you_.

\--

Monty knows when he wakes up curled against Miller in the morning that he has to do something today. Miller’s still asleep, late night guard shifts usually take a lot out of him and later night activities probably helped with that. He looks so peaceful in his sleep, the concerned wrinkles of his forehead are nonexistent and he looks young again, like the 18-year-old that he’s supposed to be instead of the man this war is turning him into. Miller’s long eyelashes catch the golden sunlight streaming through the windows.

As if sensing Monty’s watching him Miller’s eyelashes start to flutter. He blinks a few times, squinting into the light, and smiles when he meets Monty’s eyes. “Morning,” Miller murmurs. His throat is thick with sleep and it makes Monty’s chest swim. “Everything okay?”

Monty reaches up and traces down Miller’s nose with just the tip of his finger. “I have to talk to them,” he says.

Miller whines and reaches toward Monty, tugging him forcefully back down into the bed. “Too early,” Miller murmurs as Monty readjusts against his boyfriend. One of Miller’s hands slips into Monty’s hair, keeping him close. They fit together so wonderfully that Monty doesn’t even mind. Like pieces of a puzzle, or gears in a machine. Monty moves with every breath Miller makes, and he could easily fall back asleep with this steady motion. “What are you going to say?” Miller asks, his voice lower with Monty pressed on his chest.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

“Want me to be there?” he asks.

“Yes. But you can’t be.” Monty sighs as Miller’s fingers start to move, twisting and turning through Monty’s hair. “They’d be even more suspicious,” Monty says softly. “And we’ve already established that we’re both protective assholes.” Miller chuckles at that, the sound deep and warm. Warm enough that Monty can carry it with him throughout this day he knows is going to be hard. “I love you,” he whispers. Monty used to think the people who said that to one another too often, _I love you I love you I love you_ , made it lose its meaning. But that was wrong. He knows now how wrong it was to believe that. He wants to say it again and again, tell Miller that he loves him so many times that there’s not even a chance for doubt to creep in. “Nate…” Monty starts.

“I’m scared too,” Miller whispers back. His fingers tighten against Monty’s head, not pulling his hair so much that it hurts. “But we’ve got each other. Yeah?”

Monty lets out a shaking breath. “Yeah.”

\--

Monty decides that the easiest way to send his message that he’s done with Pike is by not showing up to work. Technically he had a guard uniform even though he’s not part of the guard, mostly just because it’s a symbol if being with Pike, and he didn’t approach it with a ten foot pole this morning. He’s in the hangar now, the one that Abby and Kane gave to the delinquents back when they were in charge and things weren’t so horrible. It’s been a while since he worked on anything for fun, and Raven’s not here but Monty easily finds something to do. An hour passes before he hears heavy footsteps and looks up to see who it is.

Monty feels small under the disappointed gaze of his mother. But this is the right thing to do, and he’s known it the entire time.

“Where have you been?” she asks, her tone curious but not accusatory.

“Here,” Monty answers.

Hannah Green places her hands on her hips and tips her head to the side. “Monty,” she starts gently, and Monty looks back down at the tech he’s been fiddling with. “We need you,” Hannah says. “You’re the smartest brain we’ve got. In terms of tech—”

“Find someone else,” Monty cuts her off. A dark shadow passes on Hannah’s face and he begins working with his wires again. “I can’t do it anymore, Mom. I’m done.”

Hannah enters the room quickly, looking over her shoulder as though someone could join her in here shortly. “Monty,” Hannah whispers sharply. “This isn’t a _game_. You can’t just quit.”

“I know it’s not a game,” Monty responds. He thinks back to Miller the night before. _I’m with you, with you._ Monty’s fingers curl, wishing Miller was here now. “There has to be another way to do this then how we’ve been doing it, Mom. By force? Through fear? Killing _everyone_? I can’t support that. I can’t believe you’re asking me to _support_ that.”

Hannah tenses. “You don’t understand,” she forces out. “Monty, think of _your father_.”

“I do,” Monty says at once, standing from the work table he’s been seated at. “I think of how much he would hate this. Who we are. What we’ve done now.” Hannah shifts then, something flickering in her eyes. “He’s gone, Mom,” he says. “Dad’s dead. And that—” his voices catches in his throat but Monty swallows and blinks hard, fighting back his tears. “It’s awful,” Monty forces himself to continue. “I miss him every day. I know you do too. But he—Dad died trying to _save_ people.”

“ _Our people_ ,” Hannah nearly hisses.

“That doesn’t—he would _hate_ this! Dad thought _everyone’s life_ was valuable. Not just ours. I know you know that!”

“So what?” Hannah asks, rocking backwards and crossing her arms. Her eyes are glistening too as though she’s trying not to cry herself. “You’re joining Kane’s side, then?” And then, “Is this because of Nathan? What did that boy _say_ to you?”

“I’m— _no_.” He stands and crosses the room to his mother. “This isn’t about Nate at all. Or Kane! I just—I can’t do it anymore, Mom.” It’s hard for him to admit it, but there _was_ a point in time in which he thought Pike’s side was the right side. The Grounders had just blown up Mount Weather, killing more of their people, and that _stung_ —especially after learning about the death of his father. But Monty knows, Monty _knows_ that not all Grounders deserve to die. “I’ve seen so much death,” Monty tells his mother weakly. “And I’m tired of it.”

“You don’t get to opt out,” she says. “What’ll Pike think? He’ll think you’re switching sides!”

“But I’m not,” Monty lies. “I’m just done.” He moves away from the work table and strides in his mother’s direction, reaching out for her hands. “I’m so tired, Mom,” he says. “Don’t make me do this anymore. _Please_.”

Something passes over Hannah’s face again, as though maybe she’s finally realizing that Monty’s just a boy. Barely even 17. Too young to fight in a war, too young to be such an important player. Or maybe she’s remembering the night Monty was almost gone too, the night Monroe was just a little too close to the toxic gas, the night Monty could’ve joined her in the grave. She blinks a few times before her dark eyebrows pull together, and eventually she nods. It’s so subtle that Monty barely recognizes it as that—a nod. And then she pulls him toward him in a very unexpected hug.

“I’ll get you reassigned,” she says thickly as she crushes her son against her. “You’re too young… he’ll understand…”

She’s not stepping away from Pike, Monty understands that, but at least it’s a start.

\--

Miller’s in their quarters later that night when Monty gets there. He doesn’t have a shift tonight and he’s getting ready for bed, perched on the edge of their bed shirtless as though he knew Monty was going to be arriving soon. He offers Monty a cheeky smile, bright and warm and hopeful.

“Okay?” Miller asks. Monty crosses the room to him quickly, tearing off his jacket and kicking off his shoes as he goes. He collides with Miller so forcefully that Miller flies back against the mattress with an _oof!_ as Monty pins him down. Monty grinds his hips and Miller groans, his hands frantically pushing at Monty’s shirt to try and get it up and off faster. “Taking that as a yes,” Miller exhales in short breaths.

“Not perfect,” Monty admits, helping Miller get his shirt off. “But definitely okay.” Miller grins as Monty presses down on him again before kissing him hard. “You?”

“Always okay when you’re around,” Miller murmurs against Monty’s lips. He doesn’t even try to mask his moan as Monty grinds against him another time, it’s loud and needy and just the sort of thing Monty needs to hear right now.

“Made you something,” Monty says as Miller’s hips jerk forward. “It’s like… an anti-bug. Blocks frequencies.” A pink is crawling up Miller’s neck and Monty thinks it must be partly from the fact that Monty’s rocking himself against him, but also maybe something more. “I made about five of them. To just carry in pockets.”

“God, I fucking love you,” Miller nearly whines. His voice is high as Monty kisses down his chest. “So much, so much.” Miller’s eyes are closed as Monty works his way down but Monty can’t stop himself from grinning. Because for the first time since his mom’s been home, since Pike’s taken control, Monty doesn’t feel the dark knots of stress that were tight in his stomach. And for the first time in a long time, he feels like the teenager that he truly is. “Ugh—fuck _me_ ,” Miller groans, grasping at the sheets.

“Working on it, baby,” Monty teases back.

They can worry about if they’re traitors or not in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I never meant to continue this but I'm weak so here we go. basically canon is still the same except Monty/Miller are together, like in the last chapter. inspired by when Monty called in on the radio and Miller was like "I'm going too, Monty saved our lives" and I was like...... DUDE

Miller sinks onto the ground of the cave, lowering his head into his hands and rubbing at his face. Despite their attempts to get in contact with the people inside the walls, Monty hasn’t responded.

Monty’s still inside of Arkadia.

Even after switching sides, privately renouncing Pike, quietly joining Kane, his job was to keep working with them. He was the inside agent Miller could never be due to his connections with his mother. Monty’s position was too powerful to give away. And now he’s still stuck inside. The escape plan for Kane and Sinclair and Lincoln went wrong, and now Lincoln’s dead and Bellamy’s still bruised and Miller can’t collect his thoughts enough to sort them out.

Monty’s still inside. _Monty’s still inside_. It echoes in his head like a shout, angry and broken and scared. _Monty’s still inside._ And he’s alone. Everyone else it out here, but Monty’s still inside.

As if knowing what he’s thinking, Octavia settles into the spot beside Miller. She nudges him lightly. “He’s safe in there,” she says. Miller lowers his hands from his face but doesn’t respond. “No one else is losing someone they love,” she says sharply. Her voice is tight. It has been since Lincoln died. Executed. Because Grounders are executed these days, and so are traitors. And Monty’s a traitor. And he’s still inside. “We’ll make contact soon.”

“Unless it’s already too late,” Miller growls.

Why else would Monty not get in contact with them? They have a radio; he has a radio. He knows how to use it. Hell, he made them. Even if the one he had didn’t work he could make another, wire up a new system just like that. He’s dead. He must be dead. He can't be dead.

The radio suddenly fizzles to life, “Bellamy?” Miller’s head jerks up, knowing Monty’s voice. “Pike knows about me,” he says, his voice filling the empty cave. “I’m in trouble. _Please_ say you still have your radio.”

Miller lunges for the radio but Sinclair grabs it before he can reach, holding it up and looking to Kane. “I swear to God,” Miller hisses, practically crawling across the rocky floor of the cave, “if you don’t answer that fucking radio—”

“Pike'll be listening,” Kane responds calmly. “If we respond, then—”

“Switch it to channel 7,” Bellamy says. He hasn’t spoken much, not since he found out Lincoln died. Not since he wouldn’t let anyone intervene when Octavia beat the shit out of him. He’s been quiet, chained up in the corner of the cave. Monty switched sides early, Bellamy switched sides too late. “It’s code,” he says. “We worked it out beforehand. Seven words after the word trouble. Switch over.”

“Don’t do it,” Octavia says, her voice still tight. “I don’t trust him.”

“I don’t give a shit who you do and don’t trust,” Miller snaps. “This is _Monty_! Switch the channel!” Sinclair tips his head to the side before passing the radio to Kane, who motions to pass it to Miller instead. Something inside of Miller bursts as he reaches forward, grabbing the device desperately as he changes the channel as fast as he can. “Monty?” he croaks.

There’s a pause. “Nate?”

“Jesus Christ,” he exhales. The relief that washes over him is instantaneous. “Where are you?”

“Don’t say it over the radio,” Kane says quickly, moving to Miller’s side. “They could still be listening.”

“I’m outside the wall,” Monty says. Just hearing Monty’s voice is a blessing and it pulls Miller back to earth. Monty’s outside of the wall. He’s outside of Pike’s hands. He’s safe, if only for a moment. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Fuck, I’m fine,” Miller says. “We’re—” Kane snatches the radio out of Miller’s hands before he can say anything else. The look that he gives Kane is lethal, but the man doesn’t react.

“We can’t say where we are,” Kane says over the radio. “But can you get to the dropship?”

“I think so,” Monty murmurs. “Might take me a bit to find it.”

“That’s okay. We’ll meet you there as soon as we can. Stay off the radio.”

“Wait,” Monty says quickly. “Nate—”

“ _Off the radio_ ,” Kane cuts him off before switching the flip, turning it off before he can say anything else. The cave falls quiet. Rage bubbles in Miller’s chest. What did Monty want to say? He balls his hands into fists and clenches his teeth, knowing it won’t do any good to snap but desperately wanting to. “I’ll go alone,” Kane says, “in case it’s a trap.”

Miller scoffs. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m not going too,” he snaps, feeling better that he could get some anger out.

“Use your head, Nathan,” Kane says crisply as he stands. Octavia’s standing too. “You’re irrational when Monty’s involved. Hell, you gave away all the names of the people in our group before he even switched sides.” Miller forces himself to his feet. “You don’t _think_. It’s unsafe. You’re not going.”

“Fuck you,” Miller snaps again, reaching for his gun.

“He’s right, Miller,” Octavia says as she kicks it out of the way. “It’ll be a trap. Pike’s probably following him right now.” Miller feels his face getting hot with anger. He wants to shout. He so desperately wants to shout. “We’ll have to trade for him.”

“No, you can’t be _serious_ ,” Miller murmurs, eyes darting to Bellamy. “You can’t be _serious_!”

“We can’t have everyone going out anyway,” Harper chimes from where she’s been quiet. “I love Monty too,” she says. “He’s probably one of the only friends I’ve got left. But Kane and Octavia, they can do this.” Miller knows she’s right, but now she wants to shout at Harper, too. “We’ll stay back.”

“Harper,” Miller growls.

“They’re right,” Bellamy says, his voice ragged. “If we want to get Monty—”

“Shut up,” Octavia snaps.

“I have to go,” Miller says again, desperation creeping into his voice. “I’m a good shot, and—”

“ _No_ ,” Kane bellows.

\--

Octavia ties him up before they leave so he can’t follow. It's either that or knock him out.

Miller struggles against the binds the second they're put on him.

\--

The waiting is agony. Harper undoes the binds around Miller’s wrists about half an hour after Octavia and Kane drag Bellamy from the cave and Miller immediately starts pacing. He goes back and forth with Harper for a long time, combing through every possible situation possible. Monty could die. Monty can’t die. So he paces, and he goes back and forth with Harper, and he paces, and he goes back and forth with Harper, and he paces. Sinclair waits in the entrance of the cave for them to return.

“You really love him,” Harper says when Miller’s finally given up, dropping down to the floor of the cave. “Don’t you?”

“Don’t be melodramatic,” Miller grumbles, not having enough energy to snap.

“You’re the one being melodramatic,” Harper says. “Pacing around and trying to fight Kane.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m worried too, okay?” Harper says. “Can you not be pissy with me? I’m on your side, Miller.”

The cave falls quiet. Miller drops his head into his hands again, rubbing at his face. How long does it take to get to the dropship and back? Certainly not this long. What if he’s dead? What if they’re all dead?

“Yeah,” Miller finally murmurs. Because it's not a secret. He'll shout it from the heavens. He's in love with Monty. He loves Monty more than it's humanly possible to love someone. And Harper, she's just trying to be nice. “I do.” He hears Harper sigh, and then she settles on the ground beside him.

They sit quietly for a long time, nothing but the sounds of the cave washing over them. But after another hour, it must be, the sound of footsteps on rocks cuts through the aching silence. Miller barely has time to exchange a glance with Harper, wondering if she hears it too, before he’s on his feet and sprinting for the entrance of the cave.

Monty’s voice is distant. “ _Nate_?”

But it _is_ Monty’s voice. He’s here, he’s here, he’s here. “Monty,” he chokes out, scanning for him, and then he appears through the tree line.

“Nate!” And then Monty’s sprinting too. They collide like a force of nature, tearing past everyone so they can meet. Monty’s just a blur in Miller’s eyes but then he’s there, in his arms, arms wrapped around him too. “You’re here, you’re here,” Monty’s saying, his words murmured into Miller’s collarbone. They’re both shaking, overwhelmed with relief as they hold tightly. Miller’s arms are wrapped around Monty’s back but he lifts one of his hands to cup the back of Monty’s head, trying to pull him even closer. “You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Miller rasps, turning so his mouth is against Monty’s temple. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” And Monty’s shaking his head, burying himself more into Miller’s neck. “I wanted to go, I—”

“No, no,” Monty cuts him off. “It was a trap, they would’ve killed you.”

“Monty—”

“When I realized you weren’t there,” Monty croaks, forcing himself back slightly so he and Miller can finally look at one another. Miller’s hand slips from Monty’s hair to cup his cheek. “God,” Monty croaks, “I was so relieved.” Miller holds his gaze for a moment longer, just so he can look at him, before crashing his lips to Monty’s.

It’s only been a few days since he last saw Monty, since he last had him in his hands. But it feels like so much longer. And having him here now, kissing him now, it feels like an impossible blessing.

Miller tips his chin back just barely. “I love you,” he murmurs against Monty’s mouth. “I love you so fucking much.”

Monty echoes him quietly, desperately. “I love you, too.”

Octavia strides past them, blood on her hands and a knife by her side. “You’re welcome,” she mutters.

\--

The fact that caves don’t have private corridors or rooms fucking sucks. All Miller wants to do is ease his hands under Monty’s shirt, pop the button on his jeans, make him feel so good that Monty forgets all the shit that they’ve been through these past couple of days. The most they can manage are a few private kisses, hidden behind a boulder from the rest of the group. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough.

“I’m sorry,” Miller says another time, this time into Monty’s neck. “I was so—I wanted to be there.” But Monty explained some of the details to him, how Pike had people hidden in the trees, how Miller was more expendable than Bellamy, or Octavia who was Bellamy’s anchor, or even Kane. They would’ve taken Miller out without any hesitation. “You shouldn’t have been left inside.”

“That was the plan from the beginning, Nate,” Monty reminds him gently. Because it was. For Monty to be their inside ears and eyes, to relay information to them over the radio. His hand curves around Miller’s cheek and he pulls him up. “It’s okay,” Monty says. “I’m here now.”

Miller dips his head into a nod before leaning in, stealing a quick kiss. He rests his forehead against Monty’s when he parts. God, he loves him. He loves him so much that he can’t even put it into words. He wants to try. To explain to Monty just how important he is to Miller. To have him _know_ how impossible things feel without him. But he doesn’t know how. He doesn't even know where he'd start.

“How’d Pike know anyway?” Miller asks. “We were careful.”

Monty ducks his head then, shrugging a shoulder slightly as his hand falls from Miller’s face. “It…” he starts, but stops, shaking his head. Miller’s eyebrows come together as he waits for an elaboration. “My mom,” Monty murmurs.

“Your… mom?” Miller echoes. “Your mom told Pike?”

“I think so.” Miller reaches up then, tugging Monty’s chin so he can look at him. “Pike said something… and it felt fishy anyway…” Monty trails off, shaking his head again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Monty.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says again, his voice cracking toward the end. “I mean, we’ve got each other. Yeah?” Monty asks weakly. “I don’t _need_ …”

“Stop, stop,” Miller murmurs. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to be upset.” Monty blinks hard and shakes his head slightly. “ _Monty_.”

“Just tell me that we’ve got each other,” Monty nearly pleads in a voice so soft that it sends shivers up Miller’s spine.

Miller leans in and presses his lips to Monty’s once. Twice. “You’ve got me,” he whispers. Monty’s hands lift to cup Miller’s cheeks. “I’m not going anywhere,” Miller breathes.

\--

Monty falls asleep in Miller’s lap as Miller plays with his hair. They’ve rejoined the group which feels immensely smaller now that Kane’s gone despite the fact that it’s the same amount of people. Pike’s been taken by the Grounders. They have to go back to Arkadia.

The cave is quiet. Harper and Octavia are off chatting quietly about something and Sinclair’s already asleep, but Bellamy’s manning the fire and Miller’s still twisting his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair.

“Do you hate me, too?” Bellamy asks suddenly, his voice low enough that it doesn’t echo. He tips his head in Miller’s direction, who shakes his head in response. “Why not? Lincoln’s dead.” Bellamy shrugs a shoulder. “I was the one who came up with the idea to bug you.” His face wrinkles up. “Monroe’s dead,” he adds, his voice cracking.

“Stop throwing yourself a fucking pity party,” Miller mutters. Of course his heart is aching at all of this. Miller hasn’t stopped aching in months. “You turned Pike in. We’re going home. It’s over.”

“I betrayed you,” Bellamy murmurs.

“You brought Monty back.”

Bellamy exhales deeply, his eyes darting to the boy asleep on Miller’s lap. He’s quiet for a moment. Maybe thinking about Octavia and Lincoln, maybe thinking about someone else. Bellamy looks back to the fire and pokes it with a stick, shifting the dying embers around.

“I knew you were together,” Bellamy says softly. “I mean, you have been for a while. But… I never see you two together.” Miller’s eyebrows come together as he looks at Bellamy. “You two are real.”

“I love him,” Miller says simply. Because it’s simple. Of course he loves Monty. How could he not? Bellamy nods at that before looking to the fire again. “Even when your head was up your ass,” Miller mutters, “and you were both with Pike and I was worried out of my fucking mind about Monty, I knew you’d keep him safe if it came down to it.”

Bellamy sighs again. “Did he tell you about today?” he asks.

Miller frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how the trade went down.” Miller thinks about it, but… no, not really. All he cared about was the fact that Pike was gone, gone, gone. “Pike had a gun to Monty’s head,” Bellamy says, his voice low. Miller tenses, his hand tightening in Monty’s hair reflexively. Monty shifts a little and Miller quickly loosens his grip. “It’s a good thing you _weren’t_ there,” Bellamy says. “You would’ve lost your mind.”

Miller lets out a shuddering breath, looking down at Monty in his lap. He looks so young asleep like this, that wrinkle of worry between his eyebrows now smooth. With the hand not tangled in his hair, Miller reaches up and brushes his fingers lightly over Monty’s cheek. And he knows that Bellamy’s telling the truth. That Miller would lose his mind if he saw Monty like that. And Miller knows with complete certainty that he’d do anything he possibly could to keep Monty safe. He’d set the world on fire if he had to.

Miller’s hand lightly flattens against Monty’s cheek and he looks to Bellamy. “What’s next?” Miller asks. “We go home, and… what?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Bellamy says softly. His eyes flicker to Monty again, then back to Miller. “Get some sleep,” he says. “The hike back will take most of the day.”

Bellamy turns his back on him as Miller settles down on the ground by Monty’s side. It takes some maneuvering as he doesn’t want to wake Monty up, but soon Miller has Monty nestled against his chest comfortably. The shifting must’ve woken him because Monty inhales deeply. “Nate,” he murmurs as he buries himself closer.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Monty murmurs back sleepily. There’s a pause. “Just missed you.” Miller dips down to kiss the crown of Monty’s head. “Hate sleeping alone,” he mumbles, curling his fingers against Miller’s shirt. “Missed you…”

Exhaling softly, Miller tugs against his boyfriend again to bring him closer. “Missed you more,” he whispers back. But Monty’s already asleep again, his chest rising and falling slowly as he slumbers without a care in the world.

 _We’re almost there_ , Miller thinks. Soon enough they’ll be able to breathe again. To _live_ again. To live _together_. With this thought, and another kiss to Monty’s forehead, Miller falls asleep soundly.


End file.
